


The Machine

by kansas_byrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Mental Breakdown, Other, Personality Breakdown, Psychological Torture, Rape, Rape Machine, Saviour Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 01:33:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15741405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kansas_byrne/pseuds/kansas_byrne
Summary: He cannot remember who he is, strapped into this machine that never stops fucking him.





	The Machine

**Author's Note:**

> I am well aware that this is seriously off. It's also early in the am and probably could stand to be reworked a little. But, this was for fun, or whatever, so, hey. Enjoy whatever the ass this is.

The movie starts up again, waking him. He doesn’t want to watch it, but even if his eyes are closed, the earphones play the moaning, grunting and quiet crying anyway. He feels so fucking isolated that even watching this goddamn movie for the millionth time helps to make him less crazy. The headset that wraps around his head adjusts when he opens his eyes, and the movie beams itself into his head. 

He pulls against the restraints, even knowing that there is no point The Machine, intimately connected to the chair that has been his prison for an unknowable amount of time, awakens all around him now that he is watching. His cock, engulfed in the sleeve, starts slowly being pumped. The Machine-Cock already lodged in his ass, pistons in and out in a lazy rhythm that picks up tempo as the show goes on. Sometimes they change the movie, but he’s seen this one so many times that he wonders if they’ve forgotten him, or if the spectacular way that he always comes at the end makes them keep it going constantly. He watches the two grown men on the screen hold down and rape the teenaged boy they’ve lured into the crappy motel room. Panting and thrusting against the intrusive machine, he wonders if the fact that he comes like a fucking fountain watching the film of his own rape makes him into a pervert, or if they’ve finally broken him. At least, he thinks that’s him. He thinks he remembers it that way, anyhow.

After he comes, they let him rest for a while, but he can feel the cold of his morning sedative being pumped into his veins, and then everything is pleasant and fuzzy for a few hours. It is the only time he’s ever unhooked. Gently, his attendant, mask in place, gives him his morning sponge bath. If it is morning. He asks deliriously who he is, the way he always does during the bath, but there is never an answer. He thinks he knows his own name, but he isn’t sure any more. 

Afterwards, he gets strapped back into the chair, and the movie plays over and over again. Then everything goes black, and it is meal time. Another Machine Cock nudges at his lips, and he opens for it, allowing it as far in as it wants. He was taught early that the only nutrients he would get would be from this cock. If he makes it come, he gets to feel full. If not, the gnawing edge of hunger dogs him through countless hours. It has become the most important thing that he does all day. It fucks his mouth, pushing relentlessly deeper until he can hardly breathe. He has to take it for what seems like forever before it pushes as deep as it can go and pulses, forcing him to choke and swallow. 

It’s the same every day. They used to ask him questions, but he broke long ago, and they know all they wanted to wring from him. Then they would talk to him as he watched the movies, his body betraying him every time. They would tell him that he was no one, that he was only that boy on the bed, crying for help that never came. When he forgot his name, they stopped talking to him entirely.  He longs for death.

At the end of the… day? The movies stop, and they violate him again, pumping cold through his veins until he passes out.

Then the movie starts again, waking him up. He doesn’t want to watch it, but the sounds are playing. Like every day, he opens his eyes, and is forced to watch his own rape as he is violated by The Machine. Today, though, the image starts to flicker and then goes out completely. The Machine stops moving, the cock lodged firmly all the way up his ass. He can hear noise, faintly, past the sound-deadening headset. Is that... gunfire?

He strains to hear, holding his own breath, and yes… it is gunfire.

Struggling against the bonds is just as hard as it has always been, but this time there’s gunfire, and just maybe he can….if he wiggles just right… one arm pops free, and he claws at his own face, trying to get the headset off. Just as he figures it out, the attendant, mask partly askew, rips it the rest of the way off, and for a second he can barely understand the gun pointed at his face. Then a figure rises behind him, arm raised with a weapon, and he falls like a puppet with cut strings.

The figure comes into sharp focus, inches from his face. Big brown eyes peer at him worriedly, long floppy hair falling into them. Fuck, it’s funny, and he laughs. It’s a hysterical sound of relief and pain. He  _ knows _ . They didn’t finish breaking him.

“Hi Sammy,” Dean says in relief, reaching up to touch his brother’s face. “You rescued me.”

The last thing he sees before he passes out is his brother’s relieved smile and his eyes, wet with tears.


End file.
